


The Cape Off My Back

by whymylife (nabringa)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Best Friends, Brotherly Bonding, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Sharing Clothes, Some angst, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is Robin, and he would like his batman socks back please, basically just two guys being bros and sharing clothes, fanboy tim also makes an appearance, he's also bitter about the switch, no beta we die like superboy, oof, sharing clothes as a form of love, skater tim makes a brief appearance, thats it folks thats the fic, you could read this as shippy i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nabringa/pseuds/whymylife
Summary: Tim and Conner's friendship over the years, as developed through shared articles of clothing.Or:Five times Tim and Kon share clothes, and one time they don't have to.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 19
Kudos: 64





	The Cape Off My Back

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what timeline this story holds to, if any. Young Justice and Red Robin stuff mostly?

“What are you-- Why are you standing there?”

“Where am I supposed to stand?!”

“Not out in the open where anyone can see you!”

Theoretically, a Robin and Superboy team-up was an ideal mix of skill sets. Robin had the stealth and the brains, and Superboy had the pizazz and the muscle. On good days when the mission required a combination of both it worked out alright, give or take some misunderstandings and bickering.

This was not one of those days.

Superboy wouldn’t know how to go about nighttime recon if Robin spelled it out for him. Which Tim knew because he’d spent over an hour spelling it out for him, and yet Superboy still didn’t know better than to stand smack-dab in the middle of the alley where the people inside the warehouse they were gathering information on could easily look out and see him.

“Just,” Tim snapped without turning around, busy lurking under a window and adjusting the infrared vision on his domino. “Hide behind something, will you?”

A beat of blessed silence…

And then a trashcan clattered to the ground. Tim winced. Dropping his hand from his mask and looking over his shoulder, he met Superboy’s deer-in-the-headlights look with narrowed eye lenses.

“Ok, but listen. I am not built for stealth.”

“Neither is Batman,” Tim said. “And he manages pretty well in my opinion.”

“Whatever,” Superboy hunched his shoulders defensively. “He has a cape and a black bodysuit. Red and blue and studded leather do not exactly blend into the shadows.”

“Neither do red and green and yellow,” he helpfully pointed out.

“Shut up, man. You still have a black cape. This isn’t fair, I am at a total disadvantage.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes-- Suberboy wouldn't even see it under the mask, so what was the point-- Tim thought through the best way to make the remainder of this mission go as smoothly as possible. Only one surefire solution presented itself. “Would you like to borrow my cape?”

“What?”

“It will be a little short on you, but it would at least--”

“Whoa, wait!” he held up one hand in a ‘stop’ motion. “Don’t you need it? For blending in?”

“I mean,” Tim shrugged. “It comes in handy, but not really.”

“... You are something else, Rob.” Letting out a dramatic sigh, Kon tiptoed towards Tim as quietly as he knew how. Which wasn’t very quietly. “Hand it over.”

Releasing the clasp of his cape, Tim practically flung it at Superboy before turning back around and settling in to ignore him for the rest of the night. As long as he didn’t make any more noise they should be fine. “Glad we got that settled. Now,” he reached up and flipped the infrared vision on properly. Getting a complete count of the warehouse inhabitants was crucial. “Shut up and focus on listening. We need to know who is in charge.”

“Yessir, Mr. Freaky Ninja Bat-pprentice, sir,” Kon grumbled from the shadows.

Tim allowed himself the eye roll, even as a small smile threatened to surface under the mask.

***

Shoulders up around his ears, hands deep in his jean pockets, and skateboard tucked firmly under one arm; Tim muttered as he trudged through the downpour. “It’s days like these I wish I could get away with wearing a cape as part of my casual wardrobe.”

He and Conner had planned to hang out in Robinson Park as civilians for most of that day; mess around in the skate park, walk the trails, complain about school while waiting in line at the food trucks. Basically, work on navigating their new friendship outside the boundaries of capes and masks and away from the demands of mentors and team mates. 

It was a good plan. 

But-- since this was Gotham-- they’d only managed a few flips off the half-pipe each when a storm started up out of nowhere. 

Tim may or may not be bitter.

Gesturing to some of the surrounding shops, Kon said, “We could duck inside until the rain stops, if you want?”

Pausing on the sidewalk and taking a good look around, Tim considered. They were downtown now, in the business district. There were tons of little shops and restaurants they could step into, including a coffee place he’d been meaning to check out anyway.

Shifting his feet, Tim winced at the squelching sound his sneakers made. Well. That was the deciding factor. Under different circumstances the coffee shop would have been a great idea, but Tim was soaking wet and in a hurry to find dry clothes. “... Nah, let’s keep going. We’re only ten minutes away. I’ll be fine.”

If they could get into his safehouse unseen, they could dry off and change into the sweats he kept there and then call Alfred to pick them up. Maybe continue their hang out at the manor with videogames and cookies? Dick wasn’t in town and Bruce was at WE and wouldn’t be home till dinner time, so they would effectively have the house to themselves. Yeah. They could do that.

It was a fail safe plan, the only downside was that it called for them to walk another half mile in the rain.

Though, from the looks of it, Conner would not mind in the slightest. Standing on the sidewalk with his head tilted up to the sky and his body language relaxed, Kon looked like he was enjoying the weather. Humming noncommittally, he finally glanced down at Tim, half smile slipping from his face as he took in his friend’s bedraggled appearance. “Um. You want my jacket? To, like, hold over your head or something? I mean. If you think it would help...”

Well. Couldn’t hurt. “... Sure.”

Kon was wearing his Superboy jacket for whatever reason, and was soaked as thoroughly as Tim as soon as he took it off, but still didn’t seem to notice or mind. Tim wondered if that was a Kryptonian thing or a Kon thing. Taking the proffered jacket-- and handing off his skateboard when Kon reached for it-- Tim swung it over his head and shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief as the rain stopped pounding against his skull. He was still wet and uncomfortable, but at least he wasn’t getting more wet. Surprisingly, the jacket smelled nice, too. Like leather, of course, but also like damp grass in the sun. He could hear the whisper of raindrops hitting the back and rolling off. It was almost cozy.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah, much. Thanks.” Tim adjusted his grip and started walking again. The sooner they got to that safe house the sooner they could get out of the rain entirely. “Hey, why were you even wearing it? Isn’t it a part of your costume?”

“Kinda?” he shrugged, jostling the board under his arm. “Since I don’t really have much of a civilian identity I just wear it whenever.”

“Hm.” Tim’s bat-training did not like that one bit. “That’s a terrible idea, just so you know. Clear separation between your hero identity and civilian identity is crucial.”

He could practically hear Kon’s eye roll. “My costume, my identities, my business.”

“Fine, fine.” They could have this conversation later, after Tim had time to prepare his arguments and form a strategy for maintaining the upper ground throughout the discussion and ensuing shouting match. Clearing his throat, Tim remembered a question he’d been meaning to ask for a while. “So. You’ve had it as long as I’ve known you, but where did you get it?”

“The jacket? Oh, one of the guys who helped bust me out of Cadmus gave it to me. They called themselves the Newsboy Legion. I was never really sure what their deal was, but they were nice.”

“Huh.” Tim ran a finger lightly down the lining, surprised by how soft it was. “It’s actually pretty good quality.”

“Yep,” Kon grinned, pride in his precious jacket evident. “I’ve worn it in every fight I’ve ever been in, and it hasn’t failed me yet.”

“Ah.” Something wet and cold dripped onto Tim’s nose, and it wasn’t from his own damp hair. “I guess that explains the gaping holes in the back.”

“Oh, hush up.” Kon shoved him gently, a mock scowl falling to hide the mischief in his bright blue eyes. “They’re just bullet holes, and there’s not even that many! It’s not my fault I’m invulnerable and my jacket isn’t. Besides,” he grinned. “That’s what the patches are for.”

“Do you sew them on yourself?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Didn’t think you would have the patience for something like that.”

Kon looked puzzled. “I have superspeed, dude. It takes me like a minute.”

“Ah, yes. Never mind. My estimation of your attention span remains the same,” Tim said, blank faced.

“Rude.”

“At least I’m honest.”

“True, but still rude. Whatever would Batman say?”

“Batman would tell me that my first mistake was associating with an entity of lower intelligence and that my second mistake was not keeping an itemized list of more creative insults catered specifically for you on my person at all times.”

“Batman and Superman have worked together for forever!”

“Exactly.”

“So rude, man. So rude,” he shook his head in disappointment. “And after I lended you my jacket, too.”

“Lent.”

“... I can’t with you.”

Bumping his friend with an elbow, Tim said, “Too bad you’re stuck with me then.”

Nodding sagely, Kon agreed. “One of the great tragedies of life.”

Laughing, both boys turned the corner. The apartment building containing the safehouse came into view, and Tim lowered his arms and practically shoved the jacket at Kon, taking off in a sprint across the asphalt with his friend following close behind, ignoring the uncomfortable squish of his steps.

He’d thank Kon later, preferably when they were both dry and trying to crush each other in Mario Kart.

***

“Tim…?” Kon wandered into the common area, zeroing in on Tim. Dressed in workout clothes instead of his Robin uniform, he was busy with a laptop. Casework, either for YJ or the Bats, if Kon knew anything about his best friend. Shuffling over, he stood behind Tim and leaned against the back of the couch, letting himself go limp, chin resting on Tim’s head and arms dangling down on either side of him. “Timmyyy... My feet are cooold...”

Tim didn’t even pause in his typing. “That is physically impossible.”

“Shut up, man.” Kon started rocking side to side, forcing Tim’s head to move with him. “My feet are totally frozen right now. Blocks of extra-sexy clone boy ice.”

“Kon.” There was just a hint of annoyance in Tim’s voice. Point for Conner Kent, folks.

Smiling slightly, he lifted his chin and propped himself up on his elbows. “Yes, Tim?”

“Conner.”

“Timothy.”

With a deep and disappointed sigh, Tim shut the laptop and tilted to the side to meet Kon’s eyes. “So put some slippers on, or socks, or something.”

“I don’t have anyyy…”

“You do not have any socks,” Tim deadpanned.

“Not any clean ones.”

“Disgusting, that’s what you are. Disgusting and lazy.” Standing, Tim set the laptop on the coffee table and stretched. Heading towards the entryway, he gestured for Kon to follow him out of the common area. “Come with me.”

“Wait,” Kon caught up, walking close behind the smaller boy. “Where are we going?”

“My room.”

“Why?”

“To get you clean socks, you moron.” Tim continued on without looking back.

“Really?”

“Yes,” his lip twitched minutely. “Most people keep clean laundry in their room.”

“No, like. You would seriously let me borrow your stuff?” Tim didn’t really share his stuff, or leave it lying around the tower. He was neat and organized and liked to know where his things were at all times. Just up and lending Kon a pair of socks was pretty bizarre. And yet…

“Sure, why not? Just return them sometime in the next decade. Preferably clean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded quickly, squaring his shoulders and trying to look trustworthy. “Of course.” Rising to hover a few inches off the ground, Kon continued to follow Tim down the hall and onto the elevator. Once the doors shut in front of them and Tim hit the button for the dormitory floor, he asked a very pressing question. “Uh, hey. Do you have any Batman socks?”

“No.”

Kon tilted his head in consideration. “As in, ‘no I do not have Batman socks’ or ‘no I will not allow you to borrow my Batman socks’?”

“... No.”

He grinned. “Whatever you say, man.”

***

There were footsteps coming down the hall towards his cell, and some muffled noises that might have been talking. Kon wished he could hear well enough to make out what they were saying. He missed his powers. Regular human ears were shit.

A scraping, heaving sound was followed by squeaky hinges groaning, and the cell door opened just enough for a small body to be shoved through before shutting again with a resounding clang.

Tim groaned from where he’d landed on the stone floor, and Kon rushed to help him up.

This was the first time they’d worked together since… Since. Despite everything, they had fallen into their old rhythm almost instantly. If Red Robin was a bit more grim, or if Superboy was a bit more cautious, neither of them were about to say anything. 

Unfortunately, the simple recon mission had turned into an ambush half-way through, and they’d both been captured and taken to some kind of underground cave system hideout. Superboy was locked up in a cell complete with red ceiling lights, and Red Robin was frogmarched somewhere else. 

He’d only been gone about a half-hour though, and now he was back. And he didn’t look too good. 

Under the burgundy glow of the lights, Tim’s face was bare except for streaks of black liquid. “Is that-- Ok, that’s a lot of blood, um--”

Tim laughed weakly, interrupting his panic. “Head wounds always bleed a lot, you know this. It’s nothing serious.”

“Still freaky.”

“I’m fine.”

“Concussion?”

“No. Just the cuts on my face and some bruising.” Tim pushed Kon away carefully, standing on his own and wiping dried blood out of his eyes. “I am fine.”

It suddenly hit Kon that Tim’s face wasn’t half covered by that stupid cowl. He could see Tim’s entire face. His eyes widened just a bit as he took a second look and realized he could see a whole lot more of Tim than just his face.

“Uh, you’re also kinda…”

“Yes.” Tim glanced dismissively down at his bare torso, old and new scars on display and pale skin painted scarlet. “I am aware.”

They'd seen each other undressed in the locker room and medbay before, that was no big deal. What was a big deal, was that Tim lost his suit. He’d managed to lose his entire freaking suit in the thirty minutes they'd been separated. Including the cowl. 

Metaphorical heads were going to roll once they escaped, if Kon knew Tim at all. 

Losing your costume was bad, losing your mask was worse. That was a level of vulnerability and exposure nobody wanted to be at when they were captured, least of all Bats. Still. Tim looked pissed to hell as he finished cleaning his face off, instead of freaked out or scared. 

If it had been anyone other than Tim, they would probably be embarrassed and then Kon would be embarrassed, but it was Tim. And Tim stalked just as confidently across the room in nothing but compression shorts and a cup as he did in the whole damn suit.

Taking a seat against the wall across from the door, he pulled his legs up to his chest and crossed his arms over his knees, leaning back and studying the seamless iron door set in the stone of the cell with a critical eye. So Kon walked over and sat down next to him, leaving some space between them, and waited for an explanation. 

Tim didn't so much as glance in his direction. 

Fine then. If Tim was going to ignore whatever happened to his suit, so would Kon. “So. What’s the plan?”

“There isn’t one right now. Give me a sec.”

“Come on, you always have a plan! That’s like, your thing. You’re the leader.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Tim snapped, “I’m not Robin anymore and I don’t lead the team.”

There was a heap-ton of bitterness in that little outburst that hurt Kon to hear, and-- not for the first time-- he wanted to ask about what exactly had happened with Robin in the year he'd been... Gone. Everybody had given him a brief overview on what he missed when he got back, including Tim, but he could tell they'd skipped over parts they didn't want to talk about or let him know about. Especially Tim, who'd greeted him with a new costume and new anger to match. But the situation was not ideal for that kinda talk, so he decided to leave it alone. For now. “Well,” he sat up straighter. “You’re the leader of this team right here and now, and that counts for something.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Tim sighed, thunking the back of his head gently against the stone once or twice as he thought. “The door doesn’t have an interior lock of any kind for me to mess with, and they took the tools I would need for that anyway. Without your powers there isn’t a way to break it down. So. There’s no way we can escape on our own any time soon. But. You set off our distress beacon just before they grabbed us, and they didn’t transport us too far from the original ambush site. It’s been two hours and forty-three minutes by my count since we were captured, so someone is definitely on their way. Even accounting for the difficulty in discovering and infiltrating an underground hideout as opposed to an above ground hideout, our knights in shining armor should only be about an hour away.”

“So there is a plan, but it mostly consists of us waiting around and then punching whatever criminals get in our way as we hightail it out of this cave?”

“Pretty much.”

“Cool.”

The boys lapsed into silence, unfortunately all too familiar with the uncomfortable quiet of cells. Having the other there helped, but neither was quite willing to admit that out loud.

After a few minutes Kon noticed Tim’s hands trembling. He was trying to hide it by tucking them into his armpits, but that just confirmed Kon’s original suspicion. “You’re cold.”

Tim clenched his jaw. “We’re underground, and evil lairs don’t usually come with central heating anyway. Nothing I can do about it right this second.”

“Um. Would you…” Kon shifted awkwardly, unsure how this offer would be interpreted but not willing to let his friend sit and shiver for an hour straight. “Would you like to borrow my pants? I've got boxers, and I can’t feel the cold anyway. I'll be fine.”

“I'm pretty sure one of your thighs is as big around as my entire waist.”

“Sheesh, chill Rob. I’m trying to be nice. How about my T-shirt? It’s big enough you could pull it down over your legs, trap some body heat or something.”

It took a minute for Tim to respond, which meant he was giving the offer actual consideration. At last he looked up at Kon and said, “It’s going to get blood on it.”

Kon could have smacked him. “It’s black and red, Rob! The blood won’t even show up.” Standing, he pulled the t-shirt over his head with one smooth motion and thrust it at Tim. “Just take it!”

Tim gave him one last long look before he stood as well and gingerly took the shirt from Kon’s outstretched hand. Putting it on quickly and efficiently, he sank back to the floor and folded his legs up again, tugging the shirt down over them and probably stretching the collar out. Kon didn’t care. He doubted he was ever getting that shirt back, anyway. No big deal. He had dozens.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome, man. Anytime. So…” Kon sat a bit closer this time, crossing his legs and leaning forward. Asking couldn't hurt. “Why’d they take your suit?”

“Several possibilities.” Tim tilted his head in a way Kon recognized from his Robin days, eyes calculating and clear without the white-out lenses hiding them. He didn't seem annoyed or upset by the question. That boded well for Kon's future. “Denying your captives clothing is a classic dehumanization technique for one, or they could be after my identity. But they don’t seem like they want to hold us indefinitely-- considering they put us both in the same cell, even if they did know to install red lights-- and they didn’t take my underclothes or your clothes, and they haven’t taken any pictures of my face or made comments implying they recognized me. So, I’m guessing it has to do more with the fact that my suit is a weapon in and of itself and leaving me in it would either increase the likelihood of our escape or make it harder to torture me. A t-shirt and jeans are neither useful in escape attempts nor hard to circumnavigate in torture situations.”

Well then. “How did they even get it off you? Doesn’t it have a bunch of safety features and buckles and stuff?”

“Knives.” Tim’s lip twisted in something that could be a smirk or could be disgust. Either one was fair. “Large, serrated knives and some mild electrical shocks to short out the circuitry. I may or may not need a new suit.”

Kon cringed. “Thank you, for that mental image.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” He leaned back against the wall, letting his legs slide out in front of him. “You seriously think they’re going to try torturing one or both of us?”

“The only reason I can think for them to have captured us is for bargaining chips, information, or revenge. Everything they’ve done so far points more to bargaining chips, but there’s always a chance.”

“Hope it doesn’t get that far.”

“Like I said, rescue is an estimated forty-five minutes away. Unless they have something planned within that time frame, I think we’re good.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Still.” Kon shook his head. “Not cool, dude.”

“I would argue that their choice of a base is, in fact, ‘cool’,” Tim said through clenched teeth.

“... You wanna hug?”

“I… Sure.” Tim laughed. Harshly, but not without humor. “Why not. Might as well get comfortable.”

“That’s our illustrious leader,” Kon grinned as he scooted to close those last few inches between them. “Always ready with a plan!”

“Shut up, idot. I really hope they get here soon, I’m freezing.”

Wrapping one arm carefully around Tim’s shoulders, Kon gently pulled his friend against his side. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tim sighed as he dropped his head on Kon’s shoulder. Kon’s really warm shoulder… “Hey,” snapping his head back up faster than he should have, Tim covered his wince with an accusing glare. “What happened to your chronic cold feet?”

Kon’s answering smile was practically angelic. “Feeling the cold and being physically affected by the cold are two different things, as you have so helpfully informed me over and over and over again.”

Tim snorted. “I better get those socks back sometime soon.”

“No fair, man! You gave me a decade-long deadline!”

“But they were my only pair of Batman socks!” he elbowed his friend none too gently in the side. “You can’t just steal all of my merch!”

“Ouch. But don’t you have, like, unlimited access to your own merch?”

“Nope.” Tim leaned into Kon, pulling his toes under the hem of his ‘borrowed’ shirt and resting his head on Kon’s shoulder once more. “Unlike Superman, Batman and Robin have never officially authorized any merch, so you can’t really find it in stores. You have to get it custom made.”

“Huh. Whadda ya know.”

“I don’t really wear much Bat merch, anyway. It feels weird to fanboy over my mentor. The socks were a present from Nightwing, though. So I do want those back.”

“What about Robin stuff?”

Kon felt Tim stiffen imperceptibly against him, and mentally facepalmed. Bad Kon. He knows the situation with Robin is weird, he should not have--

“I don’t wear Robin stuff. When I was Robin, It felt too much like a self-promo. Now… I guess there’s just a lot of bad feelings associated with the colors.” 

“... Ah. Makes sense.”

Tim sighed. “Now that we got that cleared up: My Socks. Returned. Clean.” Each word was emphasized with a firm head thunk against Kon’s collarbone. “As soon as we get back to the tower.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kon rubbed at the sore spot. “I got you, bro. How about you focus on not developing hypothermia while we wait instead of ragging on me right now?”

“You better not conveniently forget about those socks under the stress of keeping me alive.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Tim elbowed him again for that one. “Not funny.”

“Sorry.” Kon had the decency to look sheepish as he switched to rubbing his ribs. In this case the lighting was probably helping, but one day he was going to figure out why it always hurt when Tim hit him-- during training and otherwise-- despite his forcefield and functional invincibility.

One day.

Preferably some day after they got rescued.

***

“Why. Are you doing this.”

There was slight resistance as Tim pulled Kon through the manor hallways by the wrist, but if Kon really did not want to be dragged around he would not let himself be dragged around, so Tim was going to take this allowance as the tacit permission to continue that it was. Reaching his room at last, Tim shoved the door open and shoved Kon through it.

“So,” Tim shut the door tightly behind him and spun to face Kon, clapping his hands together briskly. Alfred would be proud. “Since I’m the one who invited you to the Gala, it’s my job to make sure you dress the part. Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you a suit? It’s not too late.”

“I have a suit.”

“Sure you do,” Tim said with a dismissive wave. “One of Clark’s old suits, probably. Probably too big, probably second hand. Probably thirty years out of style.”

“Suits have style?”

“Um. Of course they do? Why would they not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because they’re boring old people clothes?”

“Conner, Conner, Conner.” Tim sighed and shook his head with mock pity. “You may think you know all about fashion, but punk, grunge, and Kansas farmboy are not the only things in style.”

“Tim.”

“Yes?”

“Please do not buy me a suit,” he said firmly. “I’m probably only going to wear it the once anyway.”

“Fine. I will not buy you a brand new, brand name suit.” Turning and walking to his dresser, Tim opened the top drawer and peered inside as he continued. “So. You’ve got a suit, not a great one but at least it’ll be clean and wrinkle free if I know anything about Ma Kent. You have enough confidence to wear uncomfortable clothes comfortably, so that should at least compensate for the age and cut. The only thing left is a shirt and tie.”

“I have those.”

“New?” Tim looked up. “You can get away with a used suit, but a used button-up is never--”

“Yes, Tim!” Kon snapped. “The shirt is new! None of Clark’s or Pa’s fit, so I bought my own last week.”

“Good,” Tim responded carefully. “... What about a tie?”

“I have a tie.”

“Cool. You’re not going to wear it.” Tim reached in and shuffled around in the drawer, finally pulling out the sky-blue silk tie he’d been gifted by Bruce last Hanukkah and hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. “You’re going to wear this one instead, because it matches your eyes and comes with a pocket insert.”

“I can’t-- I don’t want--” Kon threw his head back and groaned. “It’s not even the color of my eyes! It’s one of yours, it’s the color of your eyes!”

“Kon. We have the same color eyes.”

“No, they’re different shades,” Kon said with a petulant whine. “Mine are darker.”

“It’s close enough, you--” Tim slapped his empty hand to his forehead, breathing deep to muffle his own frustrated sigh. Looking up at Kon, he asked, “Are you seriously arguing with me about this right now? I’m trying to help you out!”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I want to.”

Kon didn’t answer. He was staring past Tim’s shoulder, eyes locked on some imperfection on the drywall only he could see; brow furrowed and shoulders stiff and hands imperceptibly clenched. Tim took a deep breath and closed the drawer. “Kon,” he asked. “What’s up?”

“I just, argh!” Kon gestured helplessly, starting to pace. “This is the part I’m supposed to be good at, the schmoozing the public stuff! I like being the center of attention. I like dressing up and going out. But this isn’t…”

Ah. He hadn’t expected this, but it did make a certain kind of sense. “... Just because this isn’t the type of crowd you’re used to doesn't mean your skills won’t translate.” Tim took a step forward, tie held loosely in one hand. “You like people, and you are genuinely interested in what others have to say. That’s appreciated no matter where you are or who you’re with, trust me. It’s not… Being nice isn’t an act, for you. You’ll pick up on all the little social cues and whatnot quickly, so don’t even worry about that stuff. You already got the most important part down.”

Looking away from the wall, Kon met Tim’s gaze, searching for signs of insincerity or pity. Tim held it evenly. Finally Kon breathed out and visibly relaxed his stance, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, still meeting Tim’s eyes. “It’s not an act for you either, you know.”

“What isn’t an act?”

“Being nice.”

“Eh,” the corner of his mouth twisted up as he flipped one hand in a so/so gesture. “Debatable, depending on the crowd. But thanks for the sentiment. Now, do you know how to do a windsor knot?”

“A what now?” Kon looked absolutely baffled.

“That’s what I thought,” he smiled. “Come here.”

***

A soft knock pulled Tim’s attention away from his packing.

It was mid December, and the original Young Justice team had all gotten together for a mission culminating in a spontaneous multi-holiday party that had ended an hour or so ago. Tim was flying back to Gotham early in the morning, and was trying to get his packing done now so he could sleep in as late as possible. There was one other thing he still needed to take care of tonight, too.

Leaving his half full duffle bag on the bed, Tim walked across the room and opened the door. Kon was standing with one hand raised to knock again, a large blue and silver gift bag clutched tight in one hand.

Well then. Maybe he could knock that other thing off his to do list before he packed. “Yes? Do you need something?”

“Hey, Tim!” Kon shifted his stance slightly, a clear sign that he was nervous behind the grin he’d plastered on. “Um, kinda? You free?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Tim held the door open wider and ushered Kon into the room, closing it behind him and then moving the duffle bag to the floor and sitting on the bed. Kon picked up the desk chair and set it down in the middle of the room, seating himself within easy reach of Tim.

“So, I… uh. I got you a present?” Holding up the gift bag for a second so he could see that it was, indeed, a present, Kon rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck before continuing. “A Christmas present, I guess? But I do know that Hanukkah involves gifts! So I guess it could be a Hanukkah present? Probably shoulda Googled how it all works…”

“No, you’re fine. That's. Wow.” Tim smiled. “I got you a Christmas present too, actually.”

“Cool! Nice to know we still think on the same wavelength sometimes!”

“Hm. Is that an insult to my intelligence or an overestimation of your own?”

“Hardy har har,” Kon shoved the gift bag at Tim with an eye roll. “Just open it, ya little freak.”

Taking the bag, Tim carefully removed and folded the tissue paper, smiling slightly at Kon’s annoyed whine. Setting the paper aside, he reached into the bag, fingers brushing against something soft. A blanket? He grasped a handful of cloth and pulled the gift out in one smooth motion.

It was… A hoodie. A Robin hoodie. Green sleeves and a red body with ‘Boy Wonder’ emblazoned in gold across the front, the Robin motif in place of the R.

Tim froze, holding the hoodie out from his body with both hands, ice water running in his veins and heart beating twice it’s normal rhythm. Kon could definitely hear it. Could see just what kind of reaction Tim had to this particular present, probably knew exactly why-- Why. Why?

“Kon, this is-- I’m not. I’m not Robin anymore, why--”

“Because you were my Robin, Tim,” Kon interrupted. He continued, and each word had a weight to it Tim rarely heard in his voice. “We were a team, and you were a fantastic Robin, and I don’t want you to forget any of that. Yeah, Robin was taken from you in a pretty shitty way, but I don’t think you should let the memories of how it ended poison the memories of how it started, if that makes sense.”

“I… Yeah.” Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Tim dropped the hoodie onto his lap and slowly caressed the R, breathing deep and feeling his heartbeat slow. “Yeah, no. No, you’re right. I was just. Thank you, Kon. This means a lot.”

“No problem, man.” He relaxed, smiling for real.

“Alright. Cool,” Tim cleared his throat, firmly shoving down the batch of tears that had some dumb ideas about trickling down his face. That could wait for later. “You want to open yours now?”

“Hell yeah, man!”

Leaning over to reach under his bed, Tim pulled out a large box wrapped perfectly with red and blue Christmas paper and handed it to Kon. Faster than the human eye could follow, Kon had it unwrapped and was holding up a brand new plain black leather jacket.

“Dude, no way!”

“Do you like it?”

“What kind of stupid question is that!?” Kon clutched the jacket to his chest. “I love it!”

“Good.”

Wasting no time, Kon slung it over his shoulders and zipped it up over his t-shirt. “It fits perfectly! How did you know my exact size?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Um…” his eyes widened almost comically. “No, actually. I don’t. Never mind.”

“Ha. It’s not even anything creepy, I just hacked your medical files and copied down your proportions. It’s custom made, so.”

“Tim. Buddy.” Putting his head in his hands, Kon sighed deeply. Tim wasn’t sure what his deal was. “You need to reassess your definition of creepy. But, I already knew that. It’s whatever at this point, and, honestly, I don’t know what else I expected.” Sitting up, Kon met Tim’s gaze with the same sincerity he’d shown earlier. “Thank you, Tim. So much. This is perfect.”

“You really like it?”

“I really do.”

Tim felt himself relaxing fully, letting out a breath he hadn’t noticed himself holding. Everything was ok, because Kon liked the jacket. He hadn’t screwed this up. “I left it plain so you could add your own patches, but if you look in the bottom of the box I bought some nice ones with the S-shield and the R and the lightning bolt and whatnot. One for everyone on the team, if you want them.”

“Um, why would I not? And now I gotta project, too!” Kon’s grin was big and real and bright as the sun, and Tim could feel it warming his soul. “I am so hyped to fix up this jacket. This is seriously the best, man.”

Smiling wide in return, Tim continued his explanation. “It’s intended for casual wear, but I stitched an emergency beacon and tracking device into the seam of the left pocket and the lining is a kevlar weave. Mostly so the jacket doesn’t get so many bullet holes in it when you fight.”

“Of course,” Kon leveled him with a flat stare. “Why else would I need kevlar lining in my casual wear leather jacket other than to defend against hypothetical bullets from the hypothetical fights I will be getting into as a civilian?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you will never be shot at while wearing this jacket?”

“... ‘Never’ is a strong choice of word…”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Yup. It’s kind of my job, actually.”

“So,” Kon said, rolling his shoulders to test the flexibility. “Is there some sentimental something behind this, or…?”

“Um, no? Not really?” Looking down at his lap, Tim fiddled with the strings on his new favorite hoodie. He hoped it was as soft as it looked. “I just remembered how much you liked your old one, and, yeah. It was a good look for you while it lasted. Much better than the t-shirt and jeans, at least.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You stole, like, five of those t-shirts.”

“Eight. The t-shirts themselves were very comfortable, I will admit. As a costume though…?”

“It’s a lot easier to change into and out of than your double-belted monstrosity.”

“First of all--” Tim stabbed one accusing finger in Kon’s direction, “-- it’s a bandolier. Second--” up went another finger, “--It’s practically impossible for other people to destroy or remove, Mr. I Budget For Three Shirts Per Battle. I’ve been captured dozens of times and my captors only managed to get me out of the suit once.”

“Oof,” Kon winced. “Knives, man. I had nightmares about you being sawed in half for months.”

“Thank you, for that mental image.”

“You are very welcome.”

Tim was proud of the restraint he showed in rolling his eyes rather than strangling Conner with the sleeves of his own brand new leather jacket.

“Third,” said Tim, building up for the final blow by waving his entire hand in Kon’s face. “You had belts on your original costume, so you can’t say anything.”

Kon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and a calculating look on his face. “Am I ever going to win an argument with you?”

Allowing a smug grin to replace his feigned outrage, Tim leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in a mirror image. “Nope.”

“Unfair.”

“Life isn’t fair. Better get used to it now, clone boy.”

“Whatever, Rob.” Kon grinned and rose to his feet, tucking the half-wrapped box full of patches under an arm. “Hey, so. I gotta head out. The Kents are expecting me home around ten o’clock and I don’t want them to wait up. Thanks again for the jacket, and I hope you have a happy Hanukkah with your family!” Kon paused halfway to the door, his free arm raised expectantly.

“Thank you.” Setting his present aside, Tim stood and met Kon halfway in a one-armed bear hug. “And thank you for the hoodie. Really. I hope your Christmas goes well with the Kents.”

“Thanks!” With one final squeeze, Kon released Tim and opened the door. “I’ll see you around, Tim!”

“I’ll see you, Kon.”

After closing the door behind the retreating form of his best friend, Tim flopped down on the bed and picked up the hoodie again. Holding it over his head, his eyes traced the lettering, and he could feel them welling up again. This time he let the tears fall. Just a few, and nobody in the tower would ever know.

Wearing Robin’s colors still didn’t feel right, but this was different. This wasn't just merch, this was a reminder and a promise and memory all at once, and he was going to treasure it for that alone.

In a minute he would finish packing, and then go to bed. He’d set the hoodie aside for now and try it on in the morning; wear it on his flight to Gotham. His family would ignore it and ask invasive questions about where he got it by turns. Tim would ignore them and provide cryptic answers by turns.

Setting it aside and swinging his legs to the floor, Tim wiped his eyes and stood. Packing and sleep now, more emotions later.

He fell asleep that night thinking that he’d have to start planning for Kon’s birthday ahead of time if he wanted to match the gift of belief his best friend had given him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic where my theater brain got into my docs and wrote 2k of dialogue, and then my writer brain had to go back the next day and write 4k+ of story to give it context. Fun times :) 
> 
> To me, sharing clothes is like a weirdly protective expression of love. It's like saying 'I will keep you warm' or 'I will keep you safe'. Platonic or romantic, it means the same thing. 
> 
> So, yeah. This was inspired by Tim sleeping in Superboy shirts and my own experiences with sharing clothes with friends and family. I just threw those two things together and mixed well. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
